A Weekend Break
by imloopy
Summary: Booth with Brennan on a book signing tour in France to promote the translation of her novel. It's a nice weekend break, away from skeletons and crimefighting, until the local coroner turns up with a request for assistance.Back to active status!
1. Chapter 1 last minute nerves

_Disclaimer: The characters from the TV series Bones are not my property. All I own of this story is the plot and the original characters. The story is set in a real place, but the characters from that place are not based on real people, and I am not implying that any of the very nice people I had the fortune to meet when in France were murderers! _

_Just to convince my husband that I'm seriously practising writing, my stated objective for this story is to write a story set in a real place, and to make the setting real to readers, as well as trying to balance the romance and the casefile._

_This story is a sequel to A Real Vacation, in that it picks up a couple of days later. However, if you haven't read that story, I'm trying to explain things in this chapter so you don't feel you've missed out on too much. All you need to know is that by the end of that story they were sort of going out, and Brennan invited Booth to go on a booksigning tour in France with her._

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**Wednesday morning: Last minute nerves**

"I can't do it." Dr. Temperance Brennan pushed her chair abruptly away from her desk and looked at her best friend in despair.

"What do you mean, Sweetie?" Angela sat down in the chair opposite and leaned forward on the desk, all sympathy.

"I can't go away for the weekend with Booth. I hardly know him!"

"Don't be silly, you've known him for over a year. You're good friends, remember?"

"Yes, I know, that's the problem. Angela, what if we end up hating each other? What if I really mess things up and we can't work together any more?"

"Bren, you'll be fine, you know you will." Angela gave her a smile, but all Brennan could think about was the idea of spending the coming weekend with Booth. How could she be so stupid? She rested her head on the desk, ignoring the piles of folders lying there awaiting her urgent attention.

"Why don't you give him a call?"

She looked up at Angela. "I can't. I'm far too busy. If I'm going to Europe for the weekend, I have to get all these cases underway first, and make sure Zack can handle them in my absence."

"Goodman doesn't mean you can't take a lunch break," Angela pointed out indignantly.

"No, but I can get a lot more done if I work through lunch. I don't have time to socialize with my boyfriend, Ange." The words seemed uncomfortable in her mouth even as she said them. Was Booth her boyfriend? She supposed so. She had spent the previous weekend helping Booth take care of Parker, and living so close to him had made it impossible to ignore her feelings for the FBI agent. But now she'd had some time away from him it all felt like a dream, and the idea of taking him with her on her book signing tour in France to promote the French translation of her book was starting to feel like a big mistake.

She sighed impatiently and sat up again, moving her chair back under the desk and opening the next folder on the pile. "Forget I said anything," she said. "I'll call him tonight, and tell him it was a big mistake. It was a stupid idea. I'll go to France by myself, and when I get back we'll pick up just where we were before last weekend. It was wrong of me to think we could do anything like this."

"I thought it was him who kissed you first," Angela pointed out, but Brennan kept her head down.

"I'm busy, Ange. Maybe we'll talk later, okay?"

She pretended she was concentrating on the file in front of her, while listening to Angela's footsteps heading towards the door. Part of her wanted Angela to agree with her, while the other part was screaming for Angela to tell her that of course she was wrong, of course she and Booth would have a great time in France. Instead, all Angela said was, "I'll order in some food for us." Then she left.

Brennan worked hard for the rest of the morning, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. It was not until Angela physically removed the papers from her hand and placed them on the desk that she realized her friend had been trying to attract her attention. She looked up. "What?"

"Lunch is here, Bren. Time to eat."

Reluctantly she stood up, giving the papers a last glance over her shoulder as she walked to the door. "If I just..."

Angela placed her hands on her shoulders, reminding Brennan of the times Booth had ushered her out of the office. "Lunch. Now."

It was no use protesting; Angela would not even allow her to take a set of papers to read over lunch. She followed her friend meekly to the other office, where Zack and Hodgins were already eagerly sharing out portions of Chinese food. There was someone else in the corner, someone she hardly noticed until she heard Zack talking to him. "I didn't realize you worked for Woo Fong's, Agent Booth."

She looked up sharply, to see Booth's grinning face. "I don't, Zack, okay? I just thought I'd pick up some food and drop by with it. I know how hard you guys are working this week."

Brennan looked quickly from Booth to Angela and back again, but both their faces were held in a blank expression, of the sort that only served to confirm that this was a set-up. It was the first time she had seen Booth in person since Monday evening, when he had taken her out to dinner to say thank you for caring for Parker for him while he recovered from a bullet in the shoulder, and she found it strangely difficult having him there. She nodded abruptly at Angela, and avoided Booth's eyes as she sat and took some food. Booth sat down beside her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

_"No. I can't do it, Booth. I'm going on my own to France, and then we'll go back to how we used to be."_ But the words would not come. She was suddenly overcome by his closeness. She felt the heat of his body pressing gently against her on the couch, and smelt the familiar aftershave and man-smell that was uniquely his. She felt her body respond eagerly to his presence, and, was forced to admit that the attraction was still there. She wrestled with her thoughts for a moment. To go on or to go back? Could they go on safely? Could they ever go back? Better to go forward and see what happened. That was the logical conclusion.

She looked up at him, to see an concerned smile on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked again, and she realized she had not answered.

"Yes," she said slowly, leaning against him slightly. "Yes, everything's fine."

She felt him relax slightly against her. "So what's the schedule again?"

"I'll pick you up around lunchtime tomorrow. We fly out to Paris tomorrow night. By the time we get there it will be Friday morning local time. I have some interviews to do during the day, and a session signing books in a Paris bookshop. Friday night in a hotel in Paris, travel to Caen up on the north coast Saturday morning, more interviews and book signing there. Then we have Sunday and most of Monday free, and travel to Rennes Monday evening. A couple more interviews Tuesday morning, then fly back Tuesday night. With the time difference, we'll arrive back late Tuesday. Then I guess it's back to work Wednesday morning."

Booth sighed. "Sounds like fun."

She looked at him irritably. "It's to promote my book, Booth. It's not going to be that much fun. It's a working weekend. But we'll have some free time, and we'll be away from work."

"No bodies? No skeletons?" Booth questioned. "Sounds like fun to me. A weekend on the French coast. A few days away from crimefighting, and away from dealing with dead bodies and the criminal fraternity. It sounds like just what I need, a proper weekend break. Then we return to work refreshed and raring to go."

Brennan could not help smiling back. "Yeah, put it like that it does sound like it's going to be fun," she admitted. She chose to ignore Angela's contented smile, as she leaned across and kissed Booth. As she dropped the plate onto the table and wrapped her arms around him, she heard Hodgins in the background saying, "Will you please get a room!"

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_And so we're off on a new story! Please let me know what you think of it so far. If you haven't read A Real Vacation, could you follow this anyway? All reviews welcome :-) _


	2. Chapter 2 Off to France

_For disclaimer see first part. Thanks for all your comments so far! Thanks to rightersblock for betaing for me.  
_

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**Chapter 2 Off to France **

Booth checked his watch again. Was she late yet? Had she changed her mind? He looked at the bag sitting at his feet, and once again went through a mental checklist of what he needed to take.

Why the hell was he this nervous? He was going away with a woman for the weekend. It wasn't as if this was the first time ever. But somehow he felt as though that was exactly the problem.

Was this a good idea? He was on the verge of calling her and telling her he thought this was a big mistake, when he spotted her car turning the corner. Thankfully, he picked up his bag, let himself out of the door and was standing waiting when she came to a stop in front of him.

"Sorry," she greeted him cheerfully. "Zack just wanted me to go through a couple of things with him, and we found something interesting."

He grinned and threw his bag into the back of the car, then settled down for the ride to the airport. He sat back contentedly listening to Brennan talking about the latest set of bones she and Zack had been working on, and looking forward to the weekend to come. Now that they were together again, all his doubts vanished and he found himself looking forward to the time they would spend together.

The flight to Paris was uneventful, and Booth spent far too much of it just looking at Brennan, and marvelling at the change in her. The uptight woman he had first met over a year ago had blossomed. He knew only that he really wanted to be with her. It was less than a week ago that he had tried to kiss her, and been rejected. He had thought then that he had pushed too hard and lost her, but she had eventually surprised him with her response. And then she had surprised him again with this invitation to go with her to France.

He stood and stretched as they prepared to leave the plane, and she turned and kissed him, and he lost himself in delight at the closeness of her. He was not aware of time passing until the air hostess stood over them clearing her throat, and he realised that all the other passengers had already disembarked.

They left the plane in their turn, collected their luggage and went through customs, looking around at a typical airport, if slightly smaller and less busy than Dulles. Among the people standing waiting to greet travelers they spotted one woman dressed in a smart grey suit standing with a sign saying "Dr. Brennan." Booth nudged Brennan and indicated the notice, and she nodded. They made their way through the crowds, and were greeted in a very attractive French accent.

"Docteur Brennan? Bonjour, je m'appelle Mireille Thevenault." Brennan responded in what was to Booth impressive French, and then to his relief then Mireille changed to English. "I am pleased to welcome you to my country, Dr. Brennan. I hope you will enjoy your stay here." She looked curiously in Booth's direction, and he met her interest with a friendly smile. Perhaps it was too friendly; Brennan appeared to think so, by the dig in the ribs he received.

He looked at her in surprise. "What's the matter?" She just shook her head and turned back to her conversation with Mireille. Booth smiled to himself. Was she jealous? At least he was pleased to notice that Brennan spoke French enough to make herself understood with Mireille, who seemed appreciative that the American lady had learnt her language.

Brennan introduced him finally. "And this is my friend, my boyfriend." Had she found it an effort to call him that? "Seeley Booth."

"Monsieur Booth, it is a pleasure to meet you." Booth suppressed a grin at the unusual title. He had been looking forward to getting away from his usual title of Agent, but had forgotten it would probably turn into Monsieur in France.

Mireille and Brennan chatted away about the weekend plans, half in French, half in English, as Booth carried the luggage. His shoulder was beginning to ache, but he forced himself to ignore the discomfort. He was pleased when they finally reached Mireille's car, a medium sized renault, and he could stow the luggage in the trunk. He resigned himself to the back seat, as the two women continued their conversation throughout the journey through the Paris streets.

"The Normandy Hotel," Mireille said a few minutes later, as they pulled up outside a big hotel. "This hotel is very near the Louvre, but I am sorry you will not have time for much sightseeing in Paris. If you do get the chance there are many beautiful works of art to be seen. We hope you will be very comfortable here."

"Thank you, I'm sure we shall," Brennan nodded, as she climbed out and helped Booth take the luggage from the car. They were greeted by a young man at the reception desk, who welcomed Brennan to the hotel in very precise English. "And Mr Brennan," he added, looking at Booth.

Booth opened his mouth to protest, but Brennan smoothly stepped in and saved his pride. Soon they found themselves in a very comfortable room. Booth looked longingly at the large bed, but Brennan shook her head. "Sorry, Booth, I've got a TV interview in an hour, and we need to get to the studios," she said.

Booth groaned, and sank down on the bed anyway, lying back across the sheets and relaxing for a moment. Brennan flopped down beside him, and he rolled over to hold her in a tight embrace. She held him back briefly, then stood up again and held out her hands. "Come on, we need to get going."

Booth buried his face in the bed. "Can't I stay here?"

"If you want."

He rolled back and looked at her. She looked back steadily, an expression of amusement on her face. "If you want to stay here, you can," she repeated, and Booth reluctantly dragged himself to his feet. "I'm only going to be doing interviews this morning, I'm sure you'll find it boring."

"I'm coming," he grumbled. He just caught the smile of satisfaction on Brennan's face as she turned away to pick up her purse.

"Come on then," she said briskly, leading the way to the elevator and back to the reception desk where Mireille was patiently waiting.

Once again they found themselves in the car and driving through the streets of Paris. By this time it was nearly 9am, and the traffic was heavy, but Mireille seemed to enjoy the journey, tooting her horn and cutting off taxis with a cheerfulness that began to make Booth feel rather uneasy.

By the time they reached their destination and it was time to leave the car and walk again, Booth was beginning to feel tired; after all, his body was telling him it was the early hours of the morning, and the sleep he had managed to grab on the plane now felt all too brief, but he obediently followed Brennan into the TV studios.

She turned round abruptly at one point and put her arms round him. "I'm not sure I can do this," she whispered in his ear. "It was bad enough doing TV in the states. I can't do it here, and in French."

"You'll be great," he assured her, lacing his fingers together in the small of her back and pressing her tightly against himself so that he could feel the warmth of her body on his. "Your French sounds really impressive, and I'm sure they'll love you."

She pulled back slightly, and he wondered if she was expecting him to follow up with the words "like I love you," but that had not been his intention. He did love her, of course he did; he just somehow knew that if he uttered those words to her she would pull away and he would lose her. It wasn't the right time for that yet. Sometimes he wondered if it would ever be the right time.

"Go get 'em," he whispered, nibbling her earlobe gently before he released her. She gave him a sickly grin and disappeared behind the program director, leaving Booth to watch the interview from the side room with a large steaming mug of very strong coffee and a selection of cookies.

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_As always, all reviews very welcome :-) If you haven't read A Real Vacation, are you still following this story okay?  
_


	3. Chapter 3 interviews

_Finally! This story is back on the edit table. Many apologies for taking a year to get around to this next chapter: firstly it's difficult here in the UK to feel enthusiastic about writing when you in the States are so far ahead. Now we're all at the same point again I feel able to write again. Secondly this chapter is about working them towards where I want them for the main story, and they wouldn't co-operate. Booth kept complaining that Brennan got the last story and he wants one to himself too. I'm not sure if it will all be from his POV, but he's got the upper hand for now._

_So we're finally making progress. One more part after this, then they'll be where they need to be and the proper adventure will start. And I promise faithfully not to leave it another year ;-)_

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Booth set his mug carefully down on the glass coffee table in front of him, and stretched his left arm experimentally. He no longer felt the sharp pain of even a few days ago. Instead, a steady ache had set up in the muscles as he moved the arm above his head. He had been lucky, he knew; lucky that the bullet had caused only a flesh wound, and lucky that as he had been forced to rely on Bones to help out, the two of them had grown closer.

A tall man dressed in jeans and shirt wandered into the room, asked Booth in heavily accented English if he needed anything, and on receiving a shake of the head he reached over and took a handful of cookies before wandering off again. Booth looked around the room in search of entertainment. The monitor in the corner of the room showed Bones meeting with the host and talking to him in what sounded to Booth at least, as fluent French. Booth had never learned much French, so he amused himself for a few minutes trying to imagine what Bones was saying, watching as she talked animatedly. She must be talking about either her work or her writing, he guessed - although that wasn't really hard to guess. Bored, he leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes and letting Bones' voice wash over him. The events of the past few days caught up with him suddenly, and he stifled a huge yawn and settled down more comfortably in the huge chair, eyes still closed.

He was startled to hear someone run into the room, breathing heavily. He opened his eyes, to see the tall man bent over him. "Please come, we have found a body," he said. Booth jumped to his feet and followed the man, who took him to the studio he had seen through the TV cameras. Two skeletons sat where only a few moments before, Bones had been sitting with the host of the program. He ran forward in horror, but Bones appeared from behind the camera.

"It's the lights," she said to him. "They're so hot. They baked the bodies dry." She moved towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "But not me. I'm safe. You're here, and you keep me safe." She kissed him passionately, moving her hands down his body.

He looked over at the two bodies, then back to her. "Shouldn't we be...?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "They don't matter, Booth. Only we matter." She pressed her lips against his, and he felt the press of her teeth. He held her tight, but he suddenly felt her shrink under his hands until he was holding only a skeleton.

The bones fell apart in his hands, and he opened his arms, letting them fall in a heap to the floor. He heard Bones' voice in his head: "You couldn't hold onto me, Booth. You couldn't keep me safe. It's time to go."

Booth sank to his knees, running his hands through the bones. The entire time he could hear the voice calling his name. "Booth. Booth!"

"What?" He sat upright, startled, to find that he was still in the side room, and Bones was crouching next to him, her hand on his arm.

"Booth! It's time to go. Are you OK?"

"Yes. Yes. Sorry. I must have dropped off." Booth looked round him in confusion, realising with relief that it had all been a dream. On the monitor the host was now talking to her next guest, and Bones looked like her usual beautiful self in front of him.

"Come on then, let's go." Bones grabbed his hands and hauled him to his feet, being careful not to put too much pressure on his left arm.

Mireille took them to a restaurant where Booth tried to look as though he appreciated the fine cuisine, while all the time fighting the tiredness that dragged at his eyelids. He noticed that Bones, too, was rather quiet. Mireille chatted to them about the schedule for the weekend, speaking a very respectable English for Booth's benefit. When she finally dropped them back at the hotel Booth was content to let Bones lead the way. The door of their room felt like reaching a place of refuge, and he leaned thankfully against the wall, only realizing after a couple of minutes that Bones was looking at him instead of unlocking the door.

"What's the matter?" he asked her, standing upright again.

"Nothing." She shook her head, a small smile on her face, and leaned forward to press her lips gently against his. Surprised but pleased, he returned the pressure, stroking her hair gently from her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck for a moment, before she pulled back and extracted the key card from her purse. She opened the door and led the way inside. "Want a coffee?"

Booth nodded gratefully, suddenly feeling like caffeine was the only way he would manage to stay awake any longer, and Bones took the kettle from the stand near the door and filled it in the bathroom, then put it back on the stand and switched it on. Booth walked past her and sat down heavily on the couch, still wearing his jacket. Bones looked at the bed, then at him.

"Not having second thoughts?" he asked her, feeling his heart beat faster. He stood up and slipped his jacket off, easing it from his injured shoulder, then hung it on a hanger by the door.

She smiled at him. "Just tired," she admitted, and kicking her shoes off she stretched out on the bed.

Booth busied himself with cups, making them both a cup of coffee, then turned to the bed to find Bones curled up on one side, her hand tucked under her cheek, breathing steadily. He smiled to himself and threw the coffees away, then slipped his clothes off and laid down carefully beside her. They really were too tired for anything tonight. And that included coffee.

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_Feedback, as usual, is gratefully accepted. And I aim to have at least one part up a week from now on. When I really get going, I have been known to update every day._


	4. Chapter 4 Caen and a mystery

_And we finally get to the main part of the story. Hope you're enjoying it and back in the swing of things! It's good to be back._

_Thanks to my beta for her assistance. _****

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**  
Saturday morning**

Booth yawned and stretched. For a moment he could not think where he was, then the crack of light that peeked through the heavy grey curtains revealed he was somewhere that could only be a hotel room, and he propped himself up on his elbow. Beside him, he saw Brennan sleeping peacefully. She must have woken in the night, he noticed, because she was dressed in a rather fetching blue lacy nightdress, and was wrapped up in the covers. He smiled, kissed her gently on the cheek, then checked his watch. Seven thirty.

Brennan stirred and he reached over and gently stroked her hair from her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked at him, and he smiled.

"Morning." She stretched her arms above her head, and the covers fell back from her shoulders. Booth grinned appreciatively at the curve of her breast under the lace. She noticed his gaze and self-consciously pulled the covers back up, then seemed to think better of it and rolled over towards him, placing her leg over his, and leaned towards him for a kiss.

Booth tasted her lips against his, and ran his hands down her back, holding her close. His hand moved down under the covers to find the edge of her nightdress, and...

"RRRRR RRRRR"

The phone made them both jump, and Booth cursed under his breath, while Brennan reached behind her for the receiver. "Hello?"

Booth laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, listening as Brennan carried out a conversation in French, occasionally muttering to herself in English as she apparently searched for words. Finally she put the receiver down and turned back to him.

"We've got to catch a train," she said.

"What?" Booth looked at her blankly.

"That was Mireille. Her mother has been taken ill, and she can't take us to Caen. She's arranged for tickets to be waiting for us at the station, but we need to be there by nine-fifteen to catch the train."

"Damn."

"Sorry," Brennan smiled apologetically. "It wasn't quite what I was expecting, but it will be fun."

"Not the kind of fun I had in mind," Booth scowled playfully. He reached for her again, but Brennan slid backwards out of bed and reached for her bathrobe.

"Sorry, but we really do have to get going," she said. "But we should have some free time tomorrow. The book signing session is this afternoon. Then on Monday we head down to Rennes. But I made them leave us Sunday free."

"OK." Reluctantly Booth got out of bed too. "Race you to the shower!"

"How about we shower together?" Brennan suggested with a grin. As Booth moved around the bed towards her, the phone rang again and she groaned. "I give up! Go have your shower, and let's get moving."

By the time they were both ready for breakfast it was nearly ten past eight, and they each ate a hurried breakfast of croissants and coffee, before packing their bags and calling for a taxi. Booth enjoyed the warmth of Brennan's leg against his in the back of the taxi as they drove through the Paris rush hour, horns sounding merrily in all directions as motor cyclists wove in and out of the heavy traffic.

They arrived at Gare St Lazaire with moments to spare, and managed to find the ticket office. Brennan queued for the tickets, then joined Booth again by the entrance to the platforms. "Quai 18," she said with a grin. "Have you found where we go yet?"

Booth looked over his shoulder at the main concourse. "Well this is quai 1," he said ruefully. "I guess we'd better get moving."

They walked briskly down the concourse, Booth admiring the rifles held by the soldiers who stood on guard. When they found the platform for their train, a crowd was waiting around the entrance. Brennan sat down on her suitcase for a moment to catch her breath, and Booth stood by her giving his shoulder a well-earned rest. He glanced around at the people; a mother was fussing over her child, who was about to drip an ice cream down his coat; a young woman carried what looked like a shopping bag with a dog's head poking out of one side; a teenager sat cross legged on the ground, strumming a guitar and singing softly to himself while two girls about his age watched adoringly. Booth glanced over at the kiosk that stood behind them, and was debating whether he had time to buy a news paper, and whether they would sell an American one anyway, when Brennan nudged him. "Train's here," she said.

Booth picked up the bags and followed meekly as Brennan surged forward with the rest of the crowd. Following the example of their fellow travelers, they fed their tickets into the tall grey machine that stood at the entrance to the platform, and received them back stamped with the time and date. Brennan looked at the printed details. "Seat 39 and 40, car 4," she said.

They walked down the train, finding their carriage. Brennan jumped up the steps and Booth passed the bags up to her, then climbed up into the narrow corridor himself, and they walked down the train to find their allotted seats. When they reached the compartment they sank down thankfully, the suitcases stowed safely under their feet. The train filled up quickly and soon pulled out. The woman with the dog got into the same carriage, and unzipped the bag on the seat beside her to form a small dog bed, from where the dog eyed Booth suspiciously, occasionally baring its teeth at him. Booth stared at it, daring it to try something with him.

The journey took them through the outskirts of Paris, into the countryside and through a few towns, stopping only a couple of times before it reached Caen. Booth listened carefully to all the announcements, although he understood very little of what was said, and was relieved when he stood up to pull the bags out and Brennan stood up as well. He had been feeling lost in this country where he understood so little of the language, and was pleased he had understood at least enough to know they had reached their destination.

This time Brennan insisted on carrying her case off the train, and pulled it alongside her as they walked the length of the platform to the exit, while Booth slung his bag over his good shoulder and strode alongside her. "You do know where we're going, don't you?"

"Of course." Brennan led the way out to the entrance and approached a taxi. She told him the name of their hotel, and they once again climbed in the back and rode in comfort.

A very quick lunch left them refreshed enough to venture out of the hotel and into the streets of Caen. Almost completely rebuilt after the Second World War, the town was a strange mix of architecture, iron wrought balconies mixing with wooden shutters and modern stone buildings. They managed to find the large store on the corner of Rue de Bras, and Brennan introduced herself to the manager, while Booth wandered idly round the bookshelves. He was surprised at the number of authors he recognized; many of the books on the shelf, especially in the crime section, were translated works by English and American authors. He picked up one he remembered reading in English, and flicked through, trying to make some sense of the unfamiliar language. He was vaguely aware of Brennan being settled at a table, one end of which was heaped with copies of the French translation of her book.

There were already several people milling around the area, most carrying a copy of the book in question, and it was not long before Brennan was merrily signing books, exchanging a few words with each person. Most attempted to at least greet her in English, and several managed a reasonable conversation with her, albeit one full of American clichés. Booth winced as he recognized phrases from American TV. Oh well, at least it was helping to disseminate a common language.

Occasionally Bones would glance over at him as she waited for the next person to present their book. "We'll find a good restaurant tonight," she said in a low voice as he passed behind her once browsing the crime books on the shelves behind her desk. He smiled. Boring as it was watching her sign books, it gave him a warm feeling to know she was admired as a writer as well as a forensic anthropologist, and the thought of the evening and night ahead, plus a day of relaxation, kept him feeling good as he idly browsed the shelves, finally settling on an Asterix book, which although written in French was a graphic book, so not too difficult to follow.

As the bulk of the crowd dwindled, each carrying off a signed version of Bones' book, one of the people who still remained in line caught Booth's attention suddenly. Rather than the book that most people were carrying, this one carried a plastic box, which he was holding very carefully. The woman in front of him in line stepped back sharply, and the man instantly turned his body, as if shielding the box. Booth replaced the book he was holding onto the shelf, and moved towards the man. Around fifty years old, he looked ill at ease, glancing around at the crowds in the bookstore and then back down at his box. He was dressed in a suit, with his tie in a tight knot close to his collar, and his big heavy coat was making a thin film of sweat stand out on his brow.

Booth reached Brennan at the same time as the mystery man, and put a hand on his shoulder as the man reached for the lid of the box.

The man turned, startled, then smiled and appeared to relax slightly. "Ah, you are FBI, n'est-ce pas?" he said. "You, as well, may be interested in this."

Booth watched, fascinated, as the man removed the lid, to reveal a skull nestling on a pad of foam. "Dr. Brennan," he said in formal, but heavily accented English. "I am Raoul Lefevre, and I work as coroner here in Caen. I would really like your opinion on whether this was murder or accident, because if I cannot find evidence it was a murder, this young girl's story may never be told."

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_Reviews, as always, very welcome. I'm trying to take advantage of the fact I'm using a real location where I've spent time. Does it show at all? Please let me know what's worked and what hasn't. That's the best way for me to improve._


	5. Chapter 5 the mystery

_I forgot to give credit for the idea of this story to Kathy Reichs, who originally brought Temperance Brennan to us. She told me once of a book signing session where a coroner brought some bones in a box to her, and that and my visit to France sparked off the story._

_Well, okay, to be honest it was a radio interview and she told a lot of others at the same time!_

_They still don't belong to me, and I'm still making nothing out of this apart from the experience._**  
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**Saturday afternoon**

Booth saw the few people still waiting near the desk take a step back, as Raoul Lefevre revealed the skull nestled inside its protective box. Brennan stood up and moved around the desk to take a closer look, and Booth felt his heart sink as he watched their peaceful weekend disappear.

The manager of the bookstore was hovering nearby, attracted by the slight commotion, and he stepped forward to wave Lefevre away. He spoke in rapid French, and Lefevre shook his head and shrugged. Bones seemed torn between the two men, and Booth decided he had better step in. He took Lefevre by the elbow. "How about we get a coffee somewhere while we wait for Dr. Brennan?" he suggested smoothly, and led the older man away. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brennan watching them wistfully.

"Booth?" Brennan called after him.

He turned and gave her a reassuring smile. "Remember that coffee place in Rue Saint Pierre?" he said, "We'll meet you there when you've finished."

It was only ten minutes later when a slightly out of breath Brennan joined the two men at the table outside the cafe. Booth decided not to quiz her about how quickly she had rushed through her remaining fans, and instead ordered an extra coffee, while Lefevre reached under his chair to once again pull out the plastic box with its precious cargo. He took the skull out and handed it to Brennan, who sat down at the table, and began to examine it carefully. "Female, aged around 18-24 years," she said confidently. "The skull shows signs of blunt trauma injury. I can't tell at this stage whether it was from a blunt instrument or from falling with force. Of course, the fall could have been a push as well, so even a fall doesn't rule out deliberate intent to injure. I would need to do tests, see what sort of force was needed to cause the injury." She glanced up expectantly at Lefevre.

The coroner nodded, and cleared his throat. "Dr Brennan," he said, speaking in slow careful English (mainly for Booth's benefit, he suspected). "A week ago, an old building was checked prior to its demolition. The body of a young woman - not much more than a girl - was found in the building. The body had been there up to twenty years, and I have been unable to ascertain whether it was a murder or accidental death. On Monday the building is due to be demolished, and unless I can prove this was a murder, and we can prevent the demolition, the last clues to identify this young woman may be lost."

"So why Dr. Brennan?" Booth demanded. "She's not here to work, she's here to promote her book."

"Ah, yes, I have read your book," Lefevre nodded, talking to Brennan and ignoring Booth. "We are indeed lucky that you are in town this weekend, Dr. Brennan."

"Look, you don't get it, do you," said Booth firmly. "We're not here to solve your case." But just looking at Brennan's face he could tell that he was wasting his breath. Bones was hooked on this mystery, and no doubt flattered by the coroner's call for help. He squashed down a feeling of jealousy and gazed at the skull. Brennan could work miracles with bones, he knew. She probably knew this woman's life story by now. And with that skill, how could she refuse a plea for assistance? He resigned himself to spending the rest of the afternoon at least working on this case. Maybe they'd be finished in time to have that evening meal. He could only hope.

"Tell us about where the body was found," he said with a sigh.

"It was in a quartier - a district - south of the town, called Grace De Dieu," Lefevre replied, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and offering the packet to Booth, who shook his head. "It is an area which is being redeveloped. There were many old apartment buildings there that are very damaged. This is one of the last buildings to be knocked down and rebuilt. The building has been empty for twenty years. The body could have been there since it was first abandoned, in 1986." He lit the cigarette and pulled deeply on it, as if thinking hard. "No-one knows anything about a body being there." He looked straight at Booth. "The young woman was pregnant. Very pregnant. She would have been very close to giving birth."

They stopped for a moment as Brennan's coffee was delivered. She made no attempt to hide the skull, and the young waitress just looked at it curiously, no doubt thinking it was made of plastic. Brennan added sugar to the coffee and stirred it. "And the fetus?" she asked.

"Died with her." Lefevre drew a last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out violently in the ashtray. "So you see, Dr. Brennan, two lives were lost. That is why I have to know whether it was a murder or an accident." He added, more softly, "My daughter ran away from home when she was a child. She was one of the lucky ones. She came home. Maybe this girl was a runaway. Maybe someone, somewhere, is sitting at home waiting for her to walk back in through the door. I have to find them, and let them know."

Brennan nodded. Her eyes met Booth's, and she exchanged a small smile. He knew what that meant. It meant that she intended to do whatever she could to identify the young woman and her cause of death. The story had touched a chord with him as well. He thought of Parker, of the delicate bundle that he had held in his arms the first time he had met his baby son. How could someone deliberately hurt a pregnant woman? He drank deeply from his bitter coffee, listened to the clatter of cups from inside the cafe and considered for a moment.

"OK," he said. "We're only here for a couple of days, but while we're here I guess we'll do what we can."

"Merci," said Lefevre, draining the last of his coffee and then pushing himself to his feet. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan. Thank you, Monsieur Booth. The rest of the remains are at the CHU - the Centre Hopitale Universitaire. Will you come with me to view them? You may use my laboratory there."

Booth went inside and paid for the coffees. As they followed the coroner down the road Brennan slipped her arm around Booth's waist. "You don't mind helping, do you?" she whispered in his ear.

He turned and smiled at her. "Did we really have a choice?" he asked her. "Besides, you're only taking a look at the body, right? And you can tell everything from that. I bet you'll have her identified by the end of the day."

She stuck out her bottom chin in the way he loved. "Maybe," she admitted. "At the very least, I'll ship it off to the Jeffersonian and get the others to take a look. It shouldn't take long, and we'll still have the rest of the weekend together.

Somehow Booth doubted things would be that easy. But at least he would be spending the weekend with Brennan. And after all, this was only the beginning of their life together. He hoped.

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_Thanks for reading so far - please tell me what you think. What am I doing right? What am I doing wrong?_


	6. Chapter 6 looking at bones

_I need to add an extra disclaimer here: I don't own the characters, and am gaining nothing from this except the experience of writing (and hopefully some reviews!). Also, this is set in a real place, and the buildings (and the public transport service!) exist. However, all the characters that are not the property of Kathy Reichs and/or Fox Studios are original and invented by me, and are in no way related to any real person, living or dead._

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**Chapter 6 looking at bones  
**

Lefevre led them at a brisk pace along the road, until they met the main street through the town. There, under the shadow of the massive castle, they found rails set into the roadway next to a church. "Our tram system," he explained with a smile. He placed a card in the machine that stood by the tram stop, pressed a few buttons, and then handed them a card ticket each. "Tram tickets. You stamp them on each tram or bus, and you can go anywhere in town," he explained. "I am pleased to supply you with cards to use during your stay in my town, courtesy of the coroner's department."

Booth took his card and looked it over. "Twisto," he said in amusement.

Lefevre nodded. "It is our public transport. It is the pride of our town. Far easier than using a car," he said, indicating as a tram rounded the corner and approached the stop.

They got onto the tram, fed the tickets in the machine as Lefevre showed them, then settled down in the comfortable seats. A female voice announced "Prochain station Quatrans," as the tram moved smoothly forwards. A few stops later the voice was announcing "prochain station CHU," and Lefevre rose to his feet, cradling the box with the skull in one arm as he balanced himself with a handle. He stepped off as the doors slid open, and the three of them stood on the platform as the tram moved off again.

Opposite the station was a large parking lot. But instead, Lefevre led them out of the station, and towards a large imposing building. Booth recognised it as a hospital; there was no mistaking that smell of antiseptic that came from the large revolving doors. A nurse in a white uniform walked past them as they entered the large lobby. "This is the Centre Hospitale Universitaire," he announced proudly. "It is a teaching hospital. The coroner's office and mortuary are based here."

Corridors and elevators followed in bewildering sequence, until Lefevre was using a security card to unlock a room Booth recognized immediately from his association with the Jeffersonian team as a mortuary. Brennan, of course, walked forward as if she owned the place. Lefevre indicated a table where a set of bones was laid out, missing only the skull. He carefully removed the skull from its box and laid it in its place on the table. Brennan moved around, picking up bones and examining them carefully, then replacing them and choosing another to examine.

"Ah - can I get a coffee anywhere?" Booth asked, feeling superfluous.

Lefevre raised his head from its hunched position long enough to give directions to the nearest coffee machine, then turned his attention back to Brennan and the bones. Booth shrugged and left the two of them alone, her auburn hair almost touching his silver hair as they bent over the table and a folder full of photos.

Booth gave them an hour, then went back to the mortuary and lab. Brennan was seated before a microscope, carefully selecting a slide from a collection to her left, holding up to the light and squinting at it, then sliding it carefully under the retainers and adjusting the focus as she peered through the eyepiece. As he watched, she reached across and picked up a pen, and scribbled something on a pad of paper to her right hand, then replaced the slide with a different one, adjusted that, then examined it closely again and made more notes. She impatiently pushed her hair back behind her ears in the gesture he loved, then glanced up, suddenly noticing him.

He smiled at her, slipping into the seat beside her. "Find anything?"

She indicated the pile of photos on the desk next to the microscope. "Take a look at those," she invited.

Booth picked them up and flicked through them. They showed a body, almost reduced to skeletal remains, situated on what looked to be a bare wooden floor. He studied the different angles, and then looked at her. "What's the verdict?" he asked, half jokingly.

Brennan pushed her bottom lip out slightly, looking deep in thought. "She died from a head injury," she said firmly. "That's all I can say for certain so far. The injury doesn't seem consistent with a blunt instrument, it's more consistent with heavy contact with the floor. The question is whether the force of the blow can be accounted for by falling, or whether extra force was required to inflict the damage. I'm just studying the bone formation, to see if there is any weakness that might account for the level of injury."

"So we're not going for that meal out yet?" Booth tried not to sound jealous. He knew exactly what Brennan was like. The idea that he could expect her to leave a case to go and enjoy herself was unlikely, and yet he couldn't help feeling a little put out that she was so eager to work on what should have been their weekend together, away from it all.

"Sorry." She shot him that smile that he never could resist. "I just want to run a couple more tests, take some more measurements. I won't be long, I promise."

He sighed. "I suppose it can't wait until tomorrow?"

Brennan considered this as she ran her hands through her hair, then tied it back in a ponytail. "I want to courier the bones to the Jeffersonian," she said. "There are more tests they can run. But I want to get as much as I can from them before they go. I'll be finished in an hour."

Beaten, Booth looked through the photos again. He found some shots of the exterior of a building. Lefevre came over and leaned on the desk, pointing at the photos. "It is an apartment building," he explained. "Five floors. The body was found on the fourth floor, near to the stairs. The building itself is on the Rue Louis Robillard, not far from the other end of the tram line we just rode on. There is a shopping area nearby, and it is a busy road, with lots of traffic both in vehicles and on foot, but the building was boarded up and as far as we could see no-one had gained access to it, although the local garcons - the boys - broke into a similar building across the road and were using it as a drug den. The whole area is part of a renovation program. All the buildings apart from this one have been demolished during the previous six weeks, and this one was being checked prior to demolition when the body was discovered. It was declared a crime scene at least until the point where I could rule on cause of death, but unless I can come up with some reason to delay it, the building will be knocked down on Monday morning. The president of the quartier is anxious that all building work go ahead as soon as possible. He is eager to have the quartier improved very soon."

"Have the police run a missing persons check?" Booth asked, drawn in to the case in spite of himself.

"Yes, bien sur, mais nothing was found. There are no missing persons from the time and area that fit the description. And if we widen the area, of course there are many, and no way to tie them to the body. That is why I asked for the assistance of your Dr. Brennan. If we cannot solve the mystery of this girl's death, at least we may be able to identify her and let her family know what happened to her."

It was late into the night before Brennan finally pushed her chair away from the desk and sighed deeply. "That's it, there's nothing more I can do," she declared.

Booth, who had been engrossed in trying to coax his small knowledge of French to give up the information contained in the case folder, looked up. "Dinner?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled over at him. "Just got to arrange a courier," she said. "I'll send this to the others; they should be able to run more tests. I want Hodgins to check on bone structure, see if we can get a location for the victim, and Angela can run some scenarios, check whether it's more likely to have been accident or force." She looked wistful, and Booth jumped in quickly before she could suggest going back early to help them out.

"I'll have a word with Lefevre, see if he can sort out a courier for us," he said, moving towards the other office, where the coroner was busy with some paperwork.

The courier was soon arranged, and Booth came back into the lab to find Brennan standing up and easing her shoulders. "Actually, Booth, I'm really tired," she said quietly. "Do you mind if we leave the dinner until tomorrow night, just grab a quick bite and then sleep?"

Disappointed, Booth nodded. "I guess," he said. She did look tired. Or was she just trying to avoid him? Maybe she had changed her mind about their relationship.

Booth dismissed his fears as paranoia brought on by extreme tiredness, jet lag and the after effects of his shoulder wound, but still he found it difficult to walk out of the hospital and on to the tram with Brennan without contrasting the afternoon and evening with his expectations of the event. Even by the time they both settled in bed, Brennan having spent rather a long time in the bathroom, he could not decide whether everything had gone wrong in their relationship before it had even got anywhere.

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